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My dad has three to six months left to live. My sister and I got the news over the weekend, preceded by a discouraging call from my mom saying she had some "news" about my dad. It turns out that the brachytherapy  he'd started last year (as the laser ablation treatments were proving less and less effective) had greatly damaged his liver and that the cancer was now spreading rapidly. I could immediately tell, as we all sat at the kitchen table, that my parents had some serious things to say. I sensed a slight jump in my heartrate but didn't find tears until later that night, my eyes closed and hearing nothing but death's door hovering closer and closer, now more tangible than ever. My dad was very calm about delivering his sentence -- to him, these past 27 years with liver cancer were all a bonus on top of the life he'd already had: growing up in a Japanese-occupied Korea, escaping the violence of the Korean War by travelling south by train and leaving behind f...

Andrew passed away on January 4th after a battle with nasopharyngeal cancer. It was a surprise to us, his university friends, a passing shot fired over e-mail, apparently nearly a year since his diagnosis. Those that could visited him at his house, his frame weak and thin, weighed down by the cancer, drugs, and radiation therapy. He kept a brave face, a rather deceptive face in hindsight. I last saw him on December 12th, about a week before heading to Saskatoon for Christmas. At the time a small thought entered my head, that this could be the last time I'd see Andrew but I quickly dismissed it as we talked of foods he could try and measures he could take to make living at home safer. I was back in Toronto on the 31st when we got word that he had been moved to palliative care and would no longer be taking visitors, a concerning sign but even then we thought he still had a few weeks left, maybe even months. His memorial was on January 12th, in Scarborough near his father'...

Summer and still no decisions on my vacation. I have given thought to taking every Monday or Friday off for a month to at least use up the days. Even then, how would I spend the time? Is this what a mid-life crisis looks like? A loss of direction, a mule pulled toward every promise of hay? O.K., I'll allot some time to think about this. I saw Amy Schumer and friends at Massey Hall, part of their "Trainwreck" tour. A fun, funny night: Vanessa Bayer likeable and passable; Mike Birbiglia polished, his material barely worn; I didn't care for Colin Quinn's jabs at the environment, cheek or no; Dave Atell remains that dirty uncle, no subject safe; Judd Apatow pleasantly surprising. And Schumer satisfied, quick and smart and completely comfortable. I will however note three annoyances: 1. The tickets were $100, which I thought a bit high; 2. The seats were in MH's balcony section, which are too thin, too shallow, too hard AND too far; 3. The show gave proceeds to...